Pink light drops
From the morning lamps
And we make blue shadows.
The wind wails,
The afternoon sky turned blinding white,
The snow falling in spirit flurries,
The birds flying lonesome,
The swing broken,
The chains moving and clinking like a wind chime,
The boardwalk geometrical and beautiful,
The seagull perched, solitary and proud.
A post card scene emerges.
The phone booth looking lovely,
The trees powdered.
The puddles have dirty grime on the surface,
Until I realize it’s ice.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Criticism is appreciated. Rudeness is not.